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The Thorny Barrier

It is a situation from a fairy tale or myth. Someone stands before a clump of briars and thorned vines with a machete, trying to hack a path through.

The path they followed here was clear and well defined and ended abruptly where the mass of thorn and briar began.

Their appearance keeps changing and flickering. One moment they appear old, the next young, first male and then female, and every point between.

They are sweating and grunting, and every time they cut a swathe of vegetation, it wraps around the machete, blunting the blade and making it heavy before falling to the ground, where it disappears.

The partial hole made in the barrier is completely replaced with fresh growth by then.

From where we float in the air, slightly above them, the situation is all the more curious, with the clear grassy space on either side of the obstruction offering immediate passage around it.

As we float a little nearer, we can hear muttering: “Onward, onward… the only way is through.” They sound exhausted and as if the words had long since lost their meaning through repetition.

“There is a way around the side”, I hear you say.

And for a moment, they look around as if they heard a whisper but cannot see anyone. Then to themselves, they say, “There is no way around. The path brought us here, and it is written that the only way is through”.

We have our own mission and cannot delay any longer, and so we continue on our way, floating through the clear space at the edge of the tangle.

“That was rather sad”, you say. “I wonder how long they will carry on?”